


Make me, Light Boy

by Sparks Is Not Appropriate (TheSparksofMagic)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drunk Sex, Light Angst, M/M, Oral Sex, Sixth Form AU (British), Teen Angst, terribly no homo Jean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 20:30:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7283590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSparksofMagic/pseuds/Sparks%20Is%20Not%20Appropriate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>based on the short film, Dare</p>
<p>Marco is the lighting guy, Jean the actor who doesn't really give a shit. When Marco offers to help Jean learn his lines, they proceed to get drunk instead. From there, things get filthy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make me, Light Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Look. This was supposed to be a oneshot. Humour, porn, the End, they all lived happily ever after. Then the end of chapter one happened and yeaaaaaaaah oops this spiraled out of my control.

Marco never had been able to take his eyes off Jean.

Even before the rehearsals and the original lighting guy dropping out, leaving him alone in the tech booth, before the auditions with the shocked glances at Jean as he sauntered onto the stage and opened his mouth and became someone else entirely, even before he’d joined the school’s small technical crew for his B-Tech in what boiled down to ‘stage manager skills’, he’d noticed the other boy.

It was hard not to, really. Jean was everywhere. His name was dropped from the glossed lips of the girls in hushed whispers and giggles, muttered in exasperated tones by long suffering teachers and gruffly called out by Jean’s crowd of mates who seemed more like a fan club than friends. Jean was famous for infamy, and that threw him into everyone’s spotlight, whether they liked him or not.

And Marco was no better, because he was blinded by Jean’s wicked smiles and amber eyes the same as every other poor, average sucker in the Sixth Form.

 

“Marco! Pay attention!” Marco shook his head as the director’s voice cut through his musings and looked back onto the stage from his position at the top of the tiered seating. The spotlight he was controlling was drifting to the right, and both Jean and his friend Sasha were glaring at him from their shadowed places.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, just loud enough to be heard. The director rolled his eyes and turned back to the stage.

“Right, now the tech crew is back on board- Jean, what the Hell do you think you’re doing? There’s less than a week until the show and you still haven’t learnt your lines. This scene isn’t hard-”

“Aye, but come on, sir, I get a bit distracted in this one, don’t I?” Jean gestured a hand between himself and the girl. “Gotta kiss Sasha, and she’s hot stuff.”

Sasha, Marco thought, was very pretty. In a “I Could Kick The Holy Crap Out Of You”, sheer cock-sure confidence kind of way. Clearly Jean went for that, and that thought sent a disappointed swoop through Marco’s belly, because yeah, while he wasn’t as much of a pushover as the majority of his year group assumed, his personality did fall towards the ‘wet blanket’ end of the spectrum.

The director smacked the script in his hand on the stage floor and glared up at Jean, who frowned in mock horror.

“You have 2 days to get the lines down for this scene, or I’m giving it to your understudy, who I have no doubt will be willing to take the part from you.”

Jean’s mock horror bled into real anger. “Jaeger is not having my part! He’s… He’s awful, he doesn’t even know what stage fucking left means!” He threw his hands up in the air, then jumped off the stage and snatched the script from the director’s hand. “I’ll fucking learn them, okay.”

“Language, Jean.”

Jean stuck the script in his back pocket and flung two fingers up behind him as he strode out of the auditorium without looking back, and Marco knew it was creepy to be watching the way Jean’s slim hips moved as he walked, but the tech booth was nicknamed the Dark Side for a reason: no-one would see the way his eyes glazed over.

The director ran a hand through his hair. “Right. Rehearsal’s over, since we seem to be missing our main character. Be here tomorrow, same time, with all of your lines learnt please!”

  
  


~~~~~~~

  
  


Marco almost walked head-first into Jean as he hurried out of the auditorium in his haste to head home (and do something vaguely dirty, but he hadn’t planned further than ‘bed-headphones-laptop’ yet). The boy was standing just outside of the swing of the double doors, head down and his shoulders bunched as he scrunched the script in tight fists.

When Jean heard the doors open, he swung around, a manic grin plastered across his mouth which fell the moment he took in Marco’s face. Marco felt a flush work its way across his cheeks and he stammered an ‘excuse me’ as he tried to move past Jean.

“Hey, you’re the light boy, right?” Jean asked, and Marco was shocked enough that Jean recognised him that he looked up, right into Jean’s confusion crinkled eyes.

“Um, hi? Light boy?” Marco realised he hadn’t actually replied, and hastily nodded, flickering his gaze back to the floor.

“’m Marco,” he mumbled.

“Cool, Light Boy has a name. Hey, you aren’t related to Mariana, are you? Mariana Bodt? Like a younger brother or something?”

Marco rolled his eyes and nodded again.

“She’s my twin, actually.” Of course Jean would know his very attractive, very out-going twin sister rather than recognising him, despite the fact that Mariana would never been seen dead hanging around ‘scum’ like Jean. She took her place on the school council seriously.

“Oh right, you mustn’t have been at her- your?- 18th then.” Jean stuck his hands in his back pockets and looked Marco up and down. “I guess you do look the same age. I just figured you’d be younger, most techies are. Anyway, Bodt, you seen- Hey, Sasha, wait!” Marco startled at Jean’s abrupt change in conversation as the girl exited the hall from behind them, shouldering her bag and sticking her nose in the air away from Jean.

“Just fuck off, Jean, I’m not happy with you. Oh, hi, Marco.”

Marco raised his hand in greeting, but Sasha had already rounded back onto Jean. Her anger was more frustration than irritation.

“If you make me look bad, I swear to God I’ll kill you, Jean. This isn’t just about you anymore!” She smacked him in the arm and began to stalk off down the corridor. Automatic lights flickered on as she passed them and she called back, “And don’t even think you’re getting a lift with me. Just learn your fucking lines, okay?”

Jean swore after her retreating back. “Little bitch! What am I supposed to do, walk back for an hour and a half? This school’s in the bum-fuck of nowhere!”

Still yelling obscenities after Sasha’s now long gone figure, Jean crammed his script into the back of his waistband and stalked off towards the exit. Marco watched him go, then decided that he was not letting this opportunity go to waste, because fuck it, what did he have to lose?

“Um- Jean?” Marco called out, and Jean turned around, nose crinkled in confusion and residual anger.

“What,” he said. Marco fiddled with the hem of his hoodie and pulled his car keys out of his back pocket.

“I have a car, I can give you a lift home. Parents aren’t expecting me back for a while yet anyway since rehearsals ended early, so I could help you with your lines or… Or something. You know. If you want me to.” Marco twirled his keys around his finger and bit his lip as he avoided looking Jean in the eyes.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay, thanks Bodt,” Jean said, laughter colouring his voice. Marco started walking towards Jean, then remembered that he’d parked around the back. He brought a fist to his lips and muttered, “This way, we’re… I’m this way.” before turning and gesturing for Jean to follow with a tilt of his head.

Feeling Jean’s curious eyes on the back of his head, Marco waited until they had climbed into his car before he asked Jean where he lived. Jean probably already thought he was crazy, and he didn’t want to make it worse by opening his mouth and saying something utterly ridiculous.

 

~~~~

 

Jean’s house wasn’t just huge. It had a forest surrounding it, an actual car park rather than a normal driveway, and Marco’s jaw dropped as he followed Jean around what seemed to be acres of garden to the open plan summer house where Jean lived. A dark glass dome the same size as the summer house stood to the left of it, and Marco kicked at a bucket filled with bottles of real champagne hidden under a bush.

Jean wandered off around the side of the dome, and then it was flooded with a soft blue light, revealing a pool and several pool chairs.

Marco didn’t know what to think. Still crouched by the bucket of bottles, he pulled one out and squinted at the label.

“This stuff’s really expensive!” He hadn’t meant for shock to bleed into his words, but Jean obviously heard him and laughed.

“Yeah, I know. Still tastes like cat shit. There’s a case behind the barbecue full of it.” He gestured to a grill where a cooler held about thirty different bottles, and Marco’s mouth dropped open. He ran his fingers along the condensation on the neck of the closest bottle and moved to pick it up, when he felt Jean move right behind him.

“Put the bottle down, then come and kiss me.”

“What?” Marco stood upright, still holding the bottle, and came face to face with Jean’s raised eyebrows.

“That’s my line,” he said, “‘Put the bottle down, then come and kiss me.’”

Relief mingled with something sour curled in the pit of Marco’s stomach. “Oh, right. Of course.”

Ignoring Marco’s stammering, Jean launched himself into a lounger and closed his eyes, face turned up to the sky. Marco looked at the alcohol, then at Jean, and popped the cork in the champagne.

Jean’s eyes flew open.

“What the-”

Marco pressed the bottle against his lips, watched Jean’s eyes flit to his mouth, and downed as much as he could drink at once before holding out the bottle to Jean. He felt the alcohol on his lips but didn’t lick it off, just watched Jean’s face as his emotions flew through shock, grudging respect at Marco’s complete lack of expression and something Marco couldn’t define and didn’t want to examine yet.

“It’ll help with your lines,” he murmured, and Jean took the bottle and drank directly from where Marco had drunk without the slightest hint of disgust (which Marco also didn’t want to examine when he was anywhere near Jean).

 

~~~~

 

“Fuck it, I can’t do this.”

Jean sat upright and lobbed the ball he’d been tossing into the plants beside the pool. With a sharp grin to Marco, he stood up and stripped his t-shirt off, then padded over to the pool. He opened the doors, and the chemical tang of chlorine hit Marco before the realisation that yes, those were Jean’s shoulder blades, and yes, that was the small of Jean’s back, and yes, Jean was taking off his jeans.

The blue light illuminated the swathes of pale skin and muscle on show which Marco couldn’t help but gaze at, until Jean slid into the water with a splash that hit the grass a few metres away. Marco padded over to the pool side.

Jean swam under the water, legs propelling him across the whole length of the pool before he broke the surface at the opposite end to Marco, grinning widely.

“Jump in, Bodt, water’s warm,” he quipped, and Marco shook his head, sitting on the pool ledge.

“I’m fine here. Dry. Comfortable. In my only change of clothes…?”

Jean swam over to Marco, resting his arms on the ledge in a way that threw his biceps into sharp relief. “Wow, shy Light Boy. Trying to make excuses.”

He grinned that shark grin again, and Marco felt his resolve crumble. He pulled his hoodie over his head and piled it far enough away from the water that it wouldn’t be caught in splash related cross-fire. His t-shirt followed it, and then Marco’s brain caught up to his actions.

Jean was staring at his midriff, and Marco followed his gaze down, which was shockingly hot. Especially when he realised Jean was waiting for him to take his jeans off. He opened the button and zip with slow, deliberate movements, and slid them down his legs. Jean wolf-whistled.

“Nice show, Light Boy, but I don’t give a shit about your nervous strip teasing. Get your butt in the fucking water.”

Marco slid into the water, trailing his fingers along the surface. Regrets pop across his thoughts, but his panic is broken into by Jean’s hand waving something in his face.

It took a moment for his eyes to readjust, but the cigarette packet came into focus and Marco reeled back.

“Take that as a ‘no’, then?” Jean asked, “Figured it might be.”

Marco forced down a blush and let that regret bubble to the forefront of his mind again.

“Where’s your loo?” he said, and it’s not what he meant at all, but Jean just pointed to the bushes outside.

“Pee over there.”

Instead of moving, Marco raised an eyebrow. Jean responded with a shrug.

“Not drunk enough to be pissing in gardens yet?” he drawled, and Marco definitely wasn’t.

“Guess not.”

Jean reaches out and grabs the bottle Marco had left on the side of the pool.

“Let’s get drunker, then.”

 

~~~~~

 

At some point they’d climbed out of the pool. They dangled their feet in the water and took swigs from the various bottles around them, Jean chain smoking his way through a pack of hand-rolled cigarettes.

The smell of the smoke overpowered the smell of chlorine. Marco watched with hazy admiration as Jean blew a perfect smoke ring, and though he disapproved of the smoking on principle, he couldn’t help but find the delicate bow of Jean’s lips curled with grey smog charming anyway. His mind, buzzed up on too much alcohol and not enough food, decided he wanted to look that effortlessly cool for once in his fucking life. When Jean let his hand drift to his side and let the cigarette fall in a loose grasp, Marco plucked it out of Jean’s fingers (trying not to feel the warm skin any more than he had to) and brought it awkwardly up to his lips, not sure what to do.

“First cigarette?” Jean asked, and Marco flushed. Laughing in the deep, slow roll of the truly pissed, Jean mimed holding the cigarette up to his lips with two fingers and sucked in a drag of air, holding it for a few seconds, then blowing it all out in one long breath. Marco was too entranced by the pucker of Jean’s mouth to realise that Jean was waiting for him to try himself until a pointed glare snapped him out his daydream.

He mimicked Jean’s actions and waited for a sense adulthood to hit him around the head. When nothing happened except one weak cough, Marco handed the cigarette back to Jean.

“Not for me,” he muttered, voice raw from the smoke.

“Suit yourself,” Jean replied. He tossed the cigarette somewhere behind him and sighed. “All I need is a joint and a blowjob and I’d be perfect. Hey, you should call your sister.”

Marco snorted. The image of his sister, with her perfect hair, clothes and make-up, even deigning to answer his call at stupid o’clock at night was funny. “She wouldn’t blow you. She wouldn’t blow anyone.” He left out the end of his statement, which was pretty much, I think we’re both gay anyway. Gay twins, and then his train of thought derailed, too rambling for his drunk mind to handle.

“What about Sasha, then?”

“She wouldn’t either.” Marco could see this conversation heading into dangerous territory and sat up a little straighter. He was taller than Jean, and broader in the… well, in everything by the looks of the very wet, very clinging boxers Jean had jumped into the pool in which Marco was very much not looking at. In the back of his mind, he hoped that Jean would take him a bit more seriously if he looked bigger. Like a dog or something.

Marco suspected he’d drunk more than he’d thought.

“How do you know?”

“She’s my friend.” Marco picked at the label on the bottle, watched it peel off under the wet of his fingers.

Jean snorted, looking up at the dome roof and lighting another cigarette. “Yeah, your only one. Fucking loner.”

A thought occurred to Marco, and he figured that with the way Jean so desperately clung to his image of the sexually confident bad boy…

“Have you even hooked up with anyone at school?”

Instead of a reply, Jean just sat up and stared at Marco with incredulous eyes, huffing a strained laugh. The reaction gave Marco all the information he needed.

“It’s just, I’ve heard you’re all talk.”

Jean stayed silent for a few beats, and Marco had to bite down his grin.

“From who? I swear no-one talks to you,” he said, and it was a deflection which Marco could see right through. “Just because I don’t wanna date any of those stuck up rich girls, man. Maybe I’m just sensitive.”

Marco laughed in disbelief.

“Fuck you, Bodt, you don’t know me,” Jean sighed, and Marco’s face fell, because maybe Jean’s brusque exterior was a front just like his own, shy mask was just that; a mask.

And maybe if Jean was letting his front down… Marco could lower his too.

“Well, you don’t know me either,” he retorted, taking a swig from the nearest bottle, because he might be doing this, but fuck, he needed to be drunker.

Jean leant very close to Marco’s face, one eyebrow raised and one hand bracketing Marco’s on the far side of where Jean was sat. “Have you ever had a blowjob?”

“Have you?” Marco leaned closer, eyes roaming from Jean’s blown-out pupils to his mouth, pink and inviting. “Bet you haven’t.”

“Yeah, well, you can blow me, Light Boy, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jean turned away and took the bottle from Marco’s hands, pressing it to his lips and draining the last drops at the bottom.

Marco looked at Jean at the same time as Jean turned to him, confused as to why Marco hadn’t replied. Drunken courage is a horrible thing, Marco thought, even as he said, “Get it out.”

“I’m not gay, dude,” Jean tried to look dismissive, but his eyes would no longer meet Marco’s.

Marco grinned, glancing up at the muted lights of the stars through the glass canopy. “Whatever, Kirschtein. I’m not the ‘sensitive’ one.”

“When did you turn into evil Light Boy?” Jean blurted.

Marco couldn’t muster up enough energy to flick him his middle finger, let alone two. “When you turned out to be a complete loser.”

“Dude, who the fuck are you?” Jean ran his hand through the back of his undercut.

Marco shrugged. “You gonna do it or not?” Jean’s hands were shaking. His shoulders were tense, and Marco dragged his legs out straight in the water, letting his toes skim over the surface.

“You really want it, don’t you?” asked Jean. The circular questions were driving Marco up the wall, but Jean’s fidgeting was intensifying, so he kept going.

“Maybe you want it and you’re just too scared to admit it.”

Licking his lips, Jean shook his head. A dark flush was spreading across his chest and his eyes were dilated, wide and petrified. “I’m not scared, Marco.”

“You’re scared of what I could do to you.”

“I said I’m not scared.”

Marco sat upright and stared into Jean’s eyes, deliberately letting his gaze slip down to his mouth once before dragging it back up to those fucking hazel eyes. “So?”

Jean’s mouth opened and closed like a fish, words trapped behind shock. Finally, he rolled his eyes and spat, “I don’t want anything off you,” before sliding into the pool. The ripples he left across the surface of the water lapped up Marco’s thighs, and when he came back up for air he faced away from Marco. Guilt rose like bile in the back of Marco’s throat.

“I’ve never kissed anyone before,” he blurted. Jean turned slowly, pushing the hair which had fallen out of its perfectly wind-tousled design in the wet out of his face. “I’m 18, I’m about to go to fucking Uni and I’ve never kissed a single person.”

“Are you serious?” asked Jean. Marco shrugged slowly, grinning sheepishly and running his hand down the back of his neck. He… hadn’t meant to say that.

“Look, man,” Jean muttered, and Marco’s head shot back up, “If you tell anyone this, I’ll kill you… But. I’ve never had a blowjob.”

A slim trickle of smug gratification warmed Marco through, and one side of his mouth crooked into a smirk without him realising what he was doing. At Jean’s glare, he burst into laughter.

“Called it. You’ve been legal for two years and never done anything,” he said, and Jean flipped him two fingers. Marco’s laughter was infectious, though, and his frown split into a grudging smile, and then they were both gasping for breath, chuckles and what was definitely a giggle from Jean echoing off the plastic of the roof.

When Jean caught his breath, he looked up at Marco from under his eyelashes, which sent bolts of heat through Marco’s belly he thought had been silenced by alcohol.

“Ah, Marco. Never been kissed?” he crooned. Cocking his head to the side, Marco’s eyes narrowed at Jean’s wide, crooked smile and his eyes, which were dark and sparkling. “Come here.”

It wasn’t a question, or a command. It was a statement, more than a recommendation and less than a cajole, and it took Marco a good five seconds to process what the ever-loving fuck Jean had just said. Jean’s face was expressionless, motionless. Blue lights reflected across his face with the movements of the water and Jean looked more inviting and open and human at that moment than he’d ever done before, when he looked the most unreal of all.

Marco slid into the pool, letting the water envelope his whole body. The muffled roar of the water in his ears was calming, but the knot of anticipation in his stomach refused to abate. Instead, it tightened, grew dense and heavy as Marco ran through every possibility of what could happen in the next few seconds. The pressure to breathe was starting to hurt where Marco hadn’t breathed in before slipping underwater and Marco ran his hands over the tiles on the floor, leaving the gritty texture beneath his fingers as a shock of reality. He could see Jean’s legs, his crotch and the long slope of his torso through the wavering pain of the chlorine in his eyes, and nearly swallowed a mouthful of water when he breathed out sharply. The bubbles popping around his face startled his brain to a state of alert and he pushed himself above the surface.

Sound and colour burst back in an explosion of sensation. Marco swam the half-length over to Jean, but stopped 30 centimetres from his face. He wiped the droplets from his face, and startled when Jean’s hand settled, warm and heavy, on the back of his neck.

His eyes closed. Jean’s whole body emanated heat, and he dragged Marco towards him and pushed him down a little, because Marco definitely had an inch or two on Jean (with the way his toes brushed the floor and Jean’s didn’t, yet Marco was still taller, it was obvious, and made him blush thinking about it). Marco’s whole body stiffened as Jean kissed…

His cheek?

Jean had pressed his open mouth against Marco’s cheek bone, mainly soft, thin lips but with the smallest hint of sloppy, wet tongue as he pulled away that left a cold mark on his skin. Marco opened his eyes and pressed shaking fingers to his cheek, refusing to recoil and blush at the feeling of the slickness Jean’s tongue had left there.

“There. Suit you for a first kiss Marco?” Jean said, smirk curling his mouth up in victory.

Marco couldn’t kick his brain into gear and so said nothing in reply; he just stood in the water, eyes darting everywhere but at Jean.

Jean, who was gliding away, back to the steps that led down into the pool in an elegant crawl. Who was standing up, rising out of the water like some sort of demigod, a lithe figure with his boxers soaking and sticking to his arse and dripping trails down his legs and shoulders and neck Marco wanted to chase with his tongue and teeth and fingertips.

He splayed himself on the top step, legs spread and fingers laced behind his head, water lapping at his sides.

Time stood still. The world stopped. The noise of the pool filter humming ceased. All Marco could focus on was the spread of Jean's body. The dark green material clinging to every curve of Jean's lower half. The slow expansion of Jean's chest as he breathed, deep and slow and almost painfully even, as if he was trying not to breathe too heavily. The twitch in his arms and the ripples he caused when he relaxed one leg, letting it slide under the shallow water completely, only his knee visible.

Marco's head was filled with Jean, the alcohol and smoke and chlorine burning everything but want out of his mind.

So he moved. Trying to emulate the same smooth glide as Jean, Marco pushed himself through the silk of the water, arms stretched out in front of him and his head dipped low. There was no noise, barely a ripple, and Marco held his breath to stop the bubbles of water popping on the surface.

When he was crouched, nearly sat cross-legged, between the spread of Jean’s legs, he blew out the breath in a shuddering sigh and climbed out of the water, not caring about how he was dripping over Jean’s body. All his focus was on the fact that he was physically leaning over Jean’s prone form, hands planted either side of Jean’s hips and his own hips kissing the skin of the pool, knees rubbing against the grit of the steps and Jean’s eyes were open, staring down at Marco hovering over his crotch in confusion.

“Bodt.”

_ What the fuck am I doing. _

“Light Boy?”

_ He’s going to murder me and no-one except him knows where I am because I’m a creepy motherfucker and what the hell was in those drinks- _

“Marco!”

Marco jumped and slid lower into the water in shock. The action only brought him closer to Jean’s crotch and his head was so close to Jean’s stomach he could feel the heat rising off his skin.

He could see the quickening in Jean’s breath, the increased rise and fall of his chest and the jumping in his muscles.

“Marco, what the fuck are you doing?”

“We must be on the same page then, because I have no fucking clue either,” Marco rasped. Jean started to sit up, but Marco pushed him back down with one hand on his hip.

“MarcO-” Jean’s voice rose in a strangled butchery of Marco’s name as Marco dropped a kiss to Jean’s belly button. Every muscle in Jean’s body froze, then relaxed in one fluid motion at the second kiss to the centre of the trail of blond hair leading under Jean’s boxers and Marco swallowed down the regrets and the panic building at the back of his throat to concentrate on the salty taste of Jean’s skin mixed with the chlorine of the water that hadn’t had time to dry. A third kiss, and a fourth brushed his lips over the material hiding Jean’s dick and Marco couldn’t help the hitch of his own hips up for any semblance of friction. A loud thump almost stopped Marco in his tracks, but he realised it was Jean’s head hitting the tiles as he let his head fall back from watching Marco and he grinned, mouthing at Jean’s dick in a manner he knew looked obscene because he’d watched enough guys do it in porn to know exactly what Jean would be seeing (if he managed to keep his eyes open).

His fingers were working under the sides of the waistband of Jean’s boxers before Marco knew what he was doing. The slick material was heavy and stuck to Jean’s skin as he dragged them down just far enough to reveal the semi-hardness of Jean’s dick. Jean whimpered at the touch of cold air against his sensitive skin, the sound sending shivers down Marco’s spine straight to his cock.

Marco pressed a ninth kiss against the head of Jean’s dick, mouth a little open, the bow of his lower lip wet and sticking and dragging.

A tenth kiss down further, followed by a small lick and tentative fingers padding over the base, walking wet trails across Jean’s balls.

An eleventh, dirty and wet and hot, which slid down Jean’s whole shaft and had Jean’s hands burying themselves in Marco’s hair and pushing him in towards Jean’s body.

“Fuuuuuck…” Jean breathed, but he cut himself off, biting his lip. A light touch on the small of Marco’s back startled him and he nearly pulled away, but between Jean’s hand pushing his head down and the harsh “Don’t you fucking dare move,” Jean bit out, he realised it was Jean’s ankle. Both of Jean’s legs were wrapped around his waist, enclosing Marco in the circle of Jean’s body. Grinning, Marco placed his hands on Jean’s back and together they maneuvered so Jean was sat upright, Marco’s head between his legs and his hands roaming across the muscles of Jean’s back.

Marco sucked the head of Jean’s dick into his mouth, ignoring the taste and focusing on the smell and the feel of Jean’s body writhing beneath his touch. The power, the control, was like nothing Marco had ever felt and he was high off it, buzzing with more than alcohol. He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that this was a shitty idea, he really did. But the rational part was small, and the arousal was too strong for him to ignore any more.

He bobbed his head down further, not feeling any pain or discomfort in the wake of the buzz, moving his tongue in little curls and presses against Jean’s skin. Jean groaned, twisting and squirming beneath his grip.

“Do you not have a fucking gag reflex, you freak?” Jean rasped. Marco looked up at him and shrugged. He had suspected he didn’t when he’d tried playing with the one dildo he’d been brave enough to buy. The movement slipped a moan from Jean’s lips, and so Marco hummed, and he thought he could probably come from the sound of Jean alone. His voice was rough from the cigarettes, choked with arousal and sent heat rushing through Marco’s whole body just because he was real; tangible and touchable and fuckable and just enough of an arsehole to be exactly his type. 

Jean’s harsh breaths grew louder, more ragged as Marco sucked and licked at his dick with messier movements, eager to please and more confident in his touches. His whole body twitched under Marco’s hands when Marco slid his tongue over Jean’s balls at the same time as digging the tips of his fingers into the meat of his shoulder blades. Marco knew Jean was going to come and the thought was terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure. 

He did this. He’d pushed Jean to the brink, was tipping him over the edge, and no-one would ever say Marco Bodt was shy ever again. 

All it took was Marco looking up at Jean’s face as he pulled his mouth back up Jean’s dick and let his lower lip drag over the underside of the head for Jean to reach his orgasm. He yanked Marco away from him and gasped, coming all over Marco’s jaw and collarbones. Marco felt it drip off his skin and into the pool. 

There was silence except for the water lapping at their skin. 

“I’m…” Jean started, but he swallowed when Marco tilted his head to listen and shook his head. Rolling his eyes, Marco sat up on his haunches until he was looking Jean directly in the eyes. Come was drying on his skin, sticky and uncomfortable, but Marco ignored it because he’d finally noticed how Jean’s eyes were wide and his chest was heaving. He removed his hands from Jean’s back and placed them on Jean’s jaw instead. 

“Jean,” he murmured, “Are you. Are you okay?” Jean said nothing, just stared at him with the same open, blank expression. “If you’re having a crisis, I can go. Or, I can stay, if you want.”

“You’re hard, right?” Jean said, and it was shockingly loud in the otherwise quiet room. Both of them flinched at the sound, then Marco nodded slowly. “You can… I’m… You can get yourself off. It’s fine. I just. I can’t-”

Marco brushed his thumb over the curve of Jean’s jawbone, slow and soft. He felt startlingly sober, and by the sharpness in Jean’s eyes that hadn’t been there before, he suspected Jean did as well. “Are you sure you don’t want me to go?”

“No,” Jean said, bluntly, “I have no fucking clue. I’m  _ straight _ Bodt, I like girls and tits and pussy and I don’t want to suck dick but I really want to kiss you and yeah, maybe I want to suck  _ your  _ dick so you know fucking what? No  _ shit  _ I’m having a  _ fucking crisis here. _ ” 

Marco wanted to laugh (to cry) at the outpouring of words and emotion, because he understood the panic and the gut-wrenching fear that Jean was feeling, and he remembered the pain of it. He remembered what it felt like to want to be held, and to want to push everyone away and never be touched again at the same time. He remembered the tears and the come and ripped pages out of his school books where he tried to throw himself into work to distract himself but his hands were shaking too badly to write. 

He remembered just wanting to  _ talk _ ; to someone, anyone, who would just listen and tell him everything was going to be okay. 

So he pulled himself out of the water, taking Jean’s hand carefully and turning their bodies so they faced each other. He hitched Jean’s boxers back up over his hips and willed the heat running through his blood to cool so he could look into Jean’s eyes with the gravity the situation deserved. 

“We’re too drunk for this,” Marco said, and Jean rolled his eyes.

“I’m not nearly drunk enough anymore.”

“Nope, definitely too drunk. I’m going to go home on the train because I saw the station like 5 minutes away from here, and you’re going to go to sleep or google about gay pride or watch some porn or whatever the fuck you want to do. I’m going to talk to you tomorrow, and we’re having this conversation sober, and in private. That okay?”

Jean looked down at their linked hands and muttered, “And here I thought you were shy. You’re just an introverted bastard, aren’t you?” 

“ _ Yes _ , and you’re avoiding the issue here.”

“Fine, what the fuck ever. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Marco stood up, hands still warm from Jean’s touch. Jean stood up with him and wandered over to a cupboard, where he pulled out an armful of towels. Nodding his thanks, Marco dried himself off and, without thinking his actions through properly, shucked his wet pants off before shimmying into his jeans. At Jean’s splutter, he swore and backed away.

“Shit, um- I should- They were wet, I couldn’t just-”

“It’s fine, it’s okay, I can just… Give them back to you. Tomorrow. I’ll dry them. Fine. Just… Go, Marco.” Jean’s eyes were so blank that he scared Marco a little, but he did as he was asked and headed back out into the garden, zipping himself up and huddling down into the collar of his hoodie. 

The stars shone in the clear night sky, but Marco didn’t look up. Midnight was fast approaching, and he just wanted to go home and sleep. His life had just turned a cartwheel, and the exhaustion burning behind his eyes was so strong he didn’t even realise when he fell asleep to the rocking of the last train home. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HtCxdsvlO0s
> 
> This is the short film, which is much better than the full length re-make, although I did borrow some bits of the second chapter from the full length version of Dare.


End file.
